“I’m glad you like it,” I replied, tempted to tell her that she had been in my mind when I fixed up that little place, but realizing the folly of any sentiment between us whom fate had drifted asunder until a whole gulf yawned between, an impassable gulf.
“Now, go and have your wound attended to. I should be very sorry if you suffered any serious inconvenience on my account. Of course, you are mystified because of finding me in Bolivar; it is a strange story, and I promise to tell it to you some other time—perhaps to-morrow.”
“I confess I am very curious about it.”
“Nor can I blame you. On my part, I am amazed at the wonderful chance that brought you, of all men on earth, there to my assistance. It seems incredible—it worries me to think the world is so very small or that a cruel fate persists in throwing us together.”
“Cruel, Hildegarde?”
“Yes, cruel, because it is needless, since we can never be even friends again. It would not do—it would be monstrous!”
Her words shocked me.
They seemed to suggest some dreadful barrier between us; on my part, I knew of none, save our dispute and separation, both of which might be forgiven, and the abyss bridged with the planks of love and charity.
Ah! perhaps it was on her side. The old suspicion arose again concerning her having obtained her freedom at the hands of the law, and married again.
I shivered as with a chill, and then ground my teeth together.